


Islands in the stream

by Tiofrean



Series: When hearts sing (Songfics) [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Reunion Sex, Songfic, song!fic, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 17:12:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiofrean/pseuds/Tiofrean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He needed Sherlock back in his life, he needed his mind, his heart and his body. His snarky retorts, his wildness, the passion of their cases, the adrenaline of their life together. John needed this fire, he wanted to breath it in again, to drown in it and never go back to the surface again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Islands in the stream

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel to my “The Bones of Love”, dedicated to johnlock14 :) 
> 
> The song this time is Islands in the Stream by Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers. You can find it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KKhV0N1dJ8E 
> 
> This fic is also my way to bring the charm back to this song for me. It is connected with one of the saddest 20 minutes of my life that will never stop haunting me while listening to this piece... So, maybe I should try to bewitch and charm it again?

John walked into 221B on unsteady legs. He broke up with Mary after a few months of their marriage. He needed Sherlock back in his life, he needed his mind, his heart and his body. His snarky retorts, his wildness, the passion of their cases, the adrenaline of their life together. John needed this fire, he wanted to breath it in again, to drown in it and never go back to the surface again.  
  
He stepped inside their former flat, Sherlock greeted him from the window sill, eyes neutral, expression flat.  
  
“Good evening, doctor Watson” he grumbled, voice a little raspy. He had been calling John like this ever since his wedding day. He was suddenly doctor Watson, his co-worker. Former co-worker, that is.  
  
John didn't know how to start saying what he needed to say, so he gestured toward his old chair that was standing in it's usual place, a little dusty now, obviously unused.  
  
“May I?” Sherlock only nodded at this, turning again to the window, facing away from John.  
“What brings you here?” He asked, tone a little harsh.  
“I...” John hesitated, before he gathered all his courage in his hands and started to explain fluidly.  
  
“I found your note in my pocket. And I... realized something. I need you in my life, Sherlock” he could hear the sharp intake of breath coming from the younger man, but he forced himself to speak along.  
  
He needed to say this.  
  
“I need you _back_ in my life. I know that I hurt you by marrying Mary, but I wanted to try this... I wanted to try to have a normal life” he huffed an ironic smile. “A normal, dull life. With wife, and home, and kids... with normal, dull job, and money to pay bills. But today... today I found this” he reached into his pocked and took out the scrap of paper with Sherlock's messy handwriting, looking at it with sentiment clear in his eyes.  
  
“I... did you mean it, Sherlock?” He looked up at the detective, but the younger man was still facing the window. John could see him nod slightly, barely there, but John had seen it nonetheless. He continued through the tightness in his throat.  
  
“I just want to apologize, Sherlock. I'm sorry that I hadn't realized it earlier... I... I shouldn't have married Mary in the first place. I should have stayed here, with you... because I love you, you know?” Another sharp intake of breath and John looked down at his hands, squeezing them together. “I love you how I could never love anyone else...” he stopped here, hearing a sudden noise coming from the slightly open window in front of Sherlock.  
  
Someone on the street has been playing a radio rather loudly, and the music made it's way to the inside of the flat. A song started and John felt his chest constrict painfully. It was about them, about him and Sherlock. From the first day they'd met.  
  
_Baby when I met you..._

  
From the day Sherlock cured John of his limp, of his nightmares and of every little disability he could have. John listened carefully to the lyrics, images flashing behind his eyelids. The music went on, the voice singing about impressing their loved ones...

  
Oh, he wanted to impress Sherlock the day they'd met. It came out that he impressed him the most with his courage of standing up against Mycroft and shooting the cabbie. From the first moment on he wanted to protect this man. He wanted to be his anchor, his soldier and guard... nor he himself needed someone to take care of him.  
  
“Sherlock, I need you... please, forgive me” he said in a low voice, blinking against the tears gathering in his eyes. He knew that he hurt the younger man, that their parting those few months ago was the worst weapon he could use on him. He didn't deserve the absolution he was so desperately asking Sherlock for, the absolution he craved. He sniffed and looked up at the tall figure in front of him.  
  
Sherlock was facing him now. John blinked again, one, lonely tear falling down his cheek.  
“I love you” he repeated, staring into the detective's eyes.  


_You do something to me that I can't explain..._

  
Sherlock's mask fell to pieces, his face suddenly full of pain and sadness. He walked to John in two quick steps and kneeled in front of the chair burying his head in the doctor's thighs.  
  
_Hold me closer and I feel no pain_

  
John cradled his head in both palms and run his fingers through the messy curls. The younger man leaned into the touch, eyes closed and jaw set.

  
“Sherlock...” John started but the detective shook his head slightly. He lifted his head up and opened the moonlit eyes, looking straight into John's soft, teary expression.  
  
“You are here...” the detective whispered in awe, staring at John as if he were a dream-come-true. And he was, for Sherlock he was...  
  
“I am. I'm not going anywhere... never again, Sherlock” John leaned a little and kissed the top of his head. “Never again.”  


_Tender love is blind..._

Sherlock stood up and grabbed John's hand, pulling him to his feet. The doctor buried his face in the crook between the taller man's shoulder and neck, embracing his lanky body with both arms. He breathed the scent in – spicy, with a little bit of vanilla and cinnamon.... home.  
  
He licked his lips what resulted in brushing Sherlock's sensitive skin with his tongue. The detective shivered. John took it as the encouragement and started to lick and suck at the pale skin, what provoked a quiet moan from Sherlock. He gasped and gripped John's arms tightly, his head growing lighter by second.  
  
John was back and John was his. Nothing else mattered.

“John?” He rasped, voice failing him. The doctor only moaned, too occupied with working Sherlock's collarbone with his teeth. “John? Are you free?”  
“What?” He stopped sucking a beautiful bruise on the younger man's left clavicle and pulled away slightly to look at him. Sherlock was flushed, eyes hooded and lips parted.  
  
“Are you free? I mean... Did you break up with Mary?” His voice was deep and raspy, and seemed connected directly to John's groin.  
“Oh... yes. Yes it's over... Now I hmpf...” he couldn't finish the sentence, because a pair of hot, soft lips invaded his, slick tongue insistently probing at his mouth. This time it was his turn to moan, his manhood hard in his trousers.

  
“Bed... John, please...” Sherlock managed to gasp between feverish kisses, his hands busy undoing the buttons on John's shirt. The doctor nodded and started to pull Sherlock with him in the direction of the detective's bedroom. It was closer and they didn't have time to waste. Not now.

  
Once inside, John pushed Sherlock down on the thick duvet and lowered himself on top. They lost all of his clothes during their way to the bedroom and were now both deliciously naked, the skin on skin contact electrifying. 

John lost the track of time as Sherlock caressed every inch of his skin, making him moan and squirm. The music outside seemed to morph into a soft, lulling noise as he kissed and licked every part of the detective that he could lie his lips and tongue on. Soon there were two fingers pressing between his legs and John's breath hitched, eyes snapping up, finding Sherlock's gaze there.  
  
It was hot, that sort of blazing flame that was now burning in the younger man's eyes and lighting everything around them. He whispered a quiet and trembling 'Sherlock' when those slender digits breached him, and soon it was too much and not enough at once.  
  
He threw his head back, moaning a low, lustful sound, feeling Sherlock shift above him, kissing his chest, his nipples, biting gently and then soothing the mark with his clever tongue.  
  
“Oh god...” someone moaned and John was no longer sure who was it. The two fingers started to stretch and pull at him, relaxing him until the third could join them. The doctor moaned a low sound, deep down in his throat, his hands scrabbling for purchase on the detective's back.  
  
And Sherlock looked down at him, licking his lips, swollen and red from kisses.  
“John” he said, removing his fingers, grabbing his manhood. John watched his bony palms applying more lube, on the head, smearing it down his length.  
  
He stopped breathing for a second, and then Sherlock was pressed against him, the steady press of the blunt tip pushing restlessly against his entrance. The detective sank into him, all muscles pulled tight, and didn't stop his movement until he was fully embedded in the good doctor. John hissed, the stretch nearly painful, but instead of backing off, he just brought both his arm around the lanky body and squeezed, holding on.  
  
Sherlock lowered his head to his shoulder, his breath ragged and uneven. He closed his eyes, John could feel the soft brush of his beautiful eyelashes, and made a sound that was purely animalistic.

  
The detective started to move, slowly at first, drawing sharp intakes of breath from John. Then he set up a hard rhythm, the force of his thrusts rocking his friend on the bed.  
  
“Sherlock... Oh god” the doctor keened when his mad detective grazed his prostate. It was a pure pleasure, the feeling that arched his back and reduced him to whimpers and whines. He was close, so close...  
  
“John... John, my John...” Sherlock started to mumble, the voice, this rumbling, sweet, dark-chocolate voice muffled by John's neck. “Don't you ever...” he started, but has been cut off by a loud groan that clawed it's way up to his throat.  
  
“Sherlock?” The doctor asked, curious. The detective started to tremble, his hips speeding up. He was as close as John now, everything a matter of seconds.  
  
“Don't you ever...” a moan, “ever” another one, louder, “leave me again...”  
  
John grabbed a handful of black curls and yanked Sherlock's head back, forcing him to face the doctor.  
“Open your eyes... Sherlock...” John whispered between whimpers, the cock inside him pounding into his sweet spot with every movement.  
  
The detective opened his eyes slowly, gazing down at his friend, his lover.  
“I won't leave you...” John leaned forward and kissed him. “Never again. Do you hear me? Never again” and then he had to close his eyes and throw his head back.  
  
One slender hand sneaked between them and grabbed him, squeezing and pulling, and John could feel himself exploding.  
  
He came with a shout, back arching and fists clenching. He gripped Sherlock's shoulders hard enough to bruise, his vision going blank for a moment. He could feel the detective moving a few times more, before he finally stiffened, keening a low litany of “John John John Johnjohnjohnjohn...”  
  
Later, when they came down from their high, he pulled the duvet over both of them and gathered Sherlock in his arms. He kissed the top of the black mop of curls and closed his eyes.  
  
He was home.

 


End file.
